The Taking
by svenka
Summary: Farfarello's childhood POV as he's pitched headlong into insanity. Poetic violence. Nothing too hardcore.
1. Chapter 1

The Taking

I figured that my first fic here should be short (and finished), so I pulled out a nice Farfarello POV.

I realize that this isn't everybody's cup of tea, so any reader comments will be extremely appreciated. Also, may it be known that while I do find Farfarello's views fascinating, I do not share his distaste for God. In fact, I don't care about Him one way or the other, so please no "I share your ideologies!" or "Yer goin' ta hell!" comments. Thanks!

Disclaimer: While I'm planning to sell some organs later in life to buy a few Weiss Kreuz characters, I do not currently own them, and this is entirely the work of a very devoted fan.

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Jei clawed erratically at his breast, the color flowing from his skin. A wound split open under his fingertips, spilling down across his stomach, splattering across the floor. He was suffocating! The room spun, and shadows leered from all directions. Even his own blood betrayed him, shattering into pieces that stabbed at his ankles.

And there she was, holding onto his wrists with her tiny hands. Her small face was streaked with tears, but for what? Him? For his death? Because surely, surely he was dying. He couldn't survive an encounter like this.

Even still, she grasped his wrists with those tiny hands, those fragile hands, and the world became more reasonable. The blood, which was now smeared in all directions, only clumped in natural ways, and the room ceased spinning. Somehow, this miniscule creature was bringing order back to the world.

He was elated! His entire soul filled with joy... but something was wrong. The small marks on the back of his skull still stung, and he felt the blood trickling down the back of his head, dying his pure white head a bloody crimson. The scratches pulsated to the beat of his heart. His heart, the core of his being, the very center of his soul, and those insignificant marks dared to try and mimic it?! Jei found himself suddenly furious, flinging the child from his wrists, and grasping at the back of his skull in an effort to still the pounding. Oh, the pounding! The noise grew, until his entire body rattled under its immense pressure, consuming his entire consciousness. And that girl, that stupid girl, was still there, clutching at his shoulders, trying to… to what?! Did it even matter anymore? What an annoyance!

Yes, that's what she was. An annoyance. Like a fly. A grin cracked across his young face, and a small voice, almost like the buzzing of a fly, spilled into his ears. A fly, a fly. Filthy flies should be destroyed. Should be destroyed. Killed. Flies should be killed.

His arms were at her throat. Her small, fragile throat, and those tiny, fragile hands were breaking under his. Still, the buzzing persisted. He watched as the life slowly drained from her bright eyes, and some piece of him yearned to bring it back, like a child who sees a fly on a windowsill and wonders why it lies so still. Or better yet, yearns to snuff it out once more. Still, the buzzing. His skin burned beneath his fingers, and he jerked to pull away. But his small hands were connected, through some unimaginable link, to the younger flesh beneath it, and, try as he might, he could not break from the lifeless corpse beneath him. Its eyes burned into his, and he felt his skin as if it were on fire, burning across his nerves. And that buzzing! She was dead! She was dead! Why was she not silent!

He ripped his arms away, small bits of skin tearing off as they caught beneath his fingernails. Jei felt eyes on the back of his head, and he turned, only to be confronted by the full visage of an angel, her stare bleeding straight into his soul. Those eyes. The eyes of his dead sister, given new life in the fabric form of a Christian tapestry. The fly's revenge. As he tore it from the wall, he could hear nothing but a screeching buzzing, beating in rhythm to his all-consuming heartbeat. Carefully he wrapped it around those tiny limbs, those small appendages, as if he were tucking her once more into bed. Gently, gently guiding the insect into its resting place.

But why, why wouldn't the noise cease?! There she lay, and still, that unearthly racket pounded across his skull. Wasn't she the fly? Wasn't she the cause?! A high giggle burst from his own lips, and he found himself guided across the room. But wait, what about her? How could he leave her there?

And why not? Was she not dead?

This voice wasn't his own. It screeched and wailed like an insect, and he motioned as if to drive it away, only to find that his limbs were unresponsive. His body moved of its own accord, making its way across the room, through the door, down the stairs, into the kitchen. His fingers, still blotched with innocent blood, wrapped around the handle of the silverware drawer, and he watched as they drew out a blade, glowing hotly in the moonlight that filtered through the open curtains.

She was dead! She was dead!

But the knife was not for her, whispered the screeching voice, and he shut his eyes. They didn't shut, and yet… they did. He curled up inside his own mind, focusing on the wailing buzzing until it completely consumed him. His sister was dead. Oh God, his sister was dead. And he had killed her.

He couldn't comprehend.

Don't worry, I'll take care of it, whispered the voice. And he believed it. And hated it.

Why?

Because I wanted to see.

See what?

See what would happen. And here. It has happened.

Couldn't understand. Couldn't comprehend. His mind split under the effort, but he didn't want to understand. Didn't want to face what had just happened.

Don't worry, I'll take care of it, whispered the voice.

He wept softly inside himself, replaying the scene inside his head. The tiny fingers. The fragile throat. The life draining from her eyes. The death, stale and final, wafting up into his nostrils. The smell of her death. And with a deafening screech, the memories were stolen from him, fleeing under the horror of that horrible voice to somewhere… somewhere else. Inside him? He didn't know. Couldn't remember. Didn't care.

There was a clatter that he couldn't see, and didn't understand, and didn't want to understand. And finally, a voice. Not the high, screeching voice, but a genuine human voice. It pulled him from the dark corner of his mind, and he opened his eyes.

There was blood everywhere. But more importantly, she was standing there. Ruth. His… No. It was Sister Ruth. A nun. Chaste. Pure. Innocent. The scent of blood curled up overwhelmingly, and he felt himself go unconscious.

And then, the buzzing stopped.

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Thanks so much for reading! Again, any comments are VERY appreciated (especially negative ones). Most of all, critiques will be painfully attacked with some very hardcore love. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

After

Someone broke into his house last night. His parents and sister were both killed, and a few small things were stolen. "A shame," they called it. Ruth called it a tragedy. Jei smelled blood. Ruth said he'd walked in, finding them lying there. "Traumatic," they said. But truthfully, Jei felt nothing except a hollowness that rivaled the depths of his deceased family's graves.

He couldn't understand why Ruth looked at him differently. Why she touched him only grudgingly, and flinched violently when he caught her only even slightly off-guard. Why her hands were bandaged. Couldn't understand why the image of his dead sister lying dead in her nightgown was clawed into the backs of his eyelids, when everyone said she'd been wrapped in a tapestry. And then, everyone wondered why she'd been killed so brutally during a simple robbery. Strangled, they'd said. Scratched up, they'd said. And his parents. Stabbed. Their eyes were stabbed out. They hadn't wanted him to hear that, but he'd heard. He heard everything.

Their eyes. He couldn't remember their eyes. But hers. He could remember hers. They stared back at him when he fell asleep, and when he dreamed, he dreamed of her eyes staring out from the body of an angel. And when he woke up in a nervous sweat, crying and calling for Ruth, she didn't come. She must not have heard him.

Ruth became obsessed with her religion. Her entire waking days were spent at the church, and her entire nightly routine consisted of bible reading and passionate pleas for Godly forgiveness.

And Jei sat back, watching, surrounded by self-fashioned seclusion. He didn't play with the other children anymore. He didn't go outside anymore. And Ruth was too possessed by her religious fanaticism to notice or care.

In the next few years, Jei made few friends and kept none for very long. Where once he had shone radiant joy on his surroundings, he now smiled only grudgingly, if at all. His neighbors pitied him, but did nothing. Not that he wanted them to intervene. Somehow, he felt justified in his numb existence. Justified in his hollow life. What was pain? An empty threat. He no longer felt it sting when he pressed cold metal deep into his veins. No longer felt that ripping ache when he refused to eat for days on end. No longer felt… anything. The loss was agonizing.

All he could feel… was a horribly distaste for his Lord. God, who had taken everything from him. The Angels, who stared in his nightmares through his sister's glossy eyes. The Heavens, who did nothing to alleviate his painless pain. And again, he hated God. The idea came and went, like a thin fog, that he should end his own suffering.

Suicide.

But no. His insides tore at the notion, and he finally decided that it was a fate he was not destined for. Why should God's pain end with his own? Shouldn't they suffer together? Endlessly, endlessly suffer together.

_Yes_, hissed a voice, echoing from deep, deep within his mind. Yes. Suffer together. And how? How to suffer? His numbness no longer allowed for him to transfer his own pain to the Heavens. Then how?

His semi-glazed eyes peered through the window of the house he shared with Ruth, catching for an instant on the glint of a young lady's hairpiece. _Yes… yes…_ He felt the echo consume him, and he found himself gliding effortlessly into the hallway, down the stairs, through the back door, down the street… It was dark, very dark. Nobody would notice. Nobody but the Heavens would see… Nobody but the Heavens would suffer, not even her. Painless, painless. Yes, that was the perfect remedy. Until God chose to alleviate his suffering, he would deal it tenfold on His lambs. But he couldn't stand to stay here. No, not here… and not as Jei.

The name dripped like acid on the back of his brain. Not that Jei wasn't in there somewhere, curled up against the back of his mind, tossing in his nightmares, but _he_ was definitely _not_ Jei. Smiling cruelly, rinsing the blood from his fingertips, he slipped off into a night as dark as hell. His hell. A hell to punish those ethereal beings that would do him harm by refusing to allow his physical suffering. A novel that Ruth was talking about flickered briefly across his memory, and he knew.

Farfarello.

From now on, he would become the demon Farfarello. Yes, he would cleanse the world of its vile, unbearable pain, until God either restored his suffering, or removed him from his achingly numb oblivion.

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Thanks so for reading! Again, any comments/critiques/flames/signs of life would be deeply, deeply appreciated and sheltered with unparalleled love :D Thanks!!


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